Good Enough
by Measured
Summary: After Richard returns to London Below, The Marquis convinces him it's best to travel together as a favor is involved. Meanwhile, Door is trying to find her sister, and Richard is dreaming of finding Anesthesia. Preslash Marquis/Richard
1. Prologue: Don't Fear The Reaper

Title: Don't Fear The Reaper  
Series: Neverwhere  
Character/Pairing: Marquis de Carabas, Richard. Preslash.  
Rating: PG/PG-13 in earlier parts.  
Author's note: 29) There was a never a profit to be got from love | The Gauntlet. / comment_fic: Neverwhere, Marquis/Richard, he's lived for many years...and intends to live for many, many more, but doesn't want to do it alone This is a prologue and bridges some scenes in the book. Needless to say, there's spoilers.  
**.  
**  
The Upworlders had a sect of believers that held to tenets of Enlightenment. He had never quite gotten the jist, for religion – especially a religion that involved denying himself and giving up materialism, was not to his interest. Still, their take on focusing the mind was what interested him. Supposedly, they'd be able to withstand amazing amounts of trauma. He'd never had enough discipline to really make it work, but it was worth a try. As the Marquis de Carabas began to feel the life draining away, that was the time to keep his cool. Oh, he'd offer a moan here and there, like those cheap Upworlder erotica. It was all a show, really. Even if by keeping it in, by mocking them in smirks, by spitting in their face he was only making the torture worse. They cut little pieces of his skin off, and watched the red blood run. A part of him wondered if they'd flay him, if there'd be enough of him to even put back together again.

His mind wandered in and out as he fell in and out of consciousness, and finally, he watched without emotion as they finished up. They let secrets fall from their lips. Slippery things, vile and unthought of, but there.

Was a life worth a secret?

Well, it wasn't as if he had only one...

**.**

It was so cold. There were not words to describe the void, the absence of warmth in this dark place. Marquis opened his blood-caked eyes and looked about. Well, at least the pain was gone. Death in itself was not, as some had theorized, a great party. There were no pretty companions awaiting him of either gender, no sprawling meadows or angelic choirs. It was merely dark and cold, so much so that breathing on his hands did nothing to keep the chill from him.

So it was that the Marquis de Carabas started walking. He could just sit there and ponder life's fascinating unsolved questions, or he could explore things. As the Marquis de Carabas was as prone to easy boredom as a young child on sugar, he did not, in fact, simply sit to muse on the meaning of life.

There was a spark in the coldness, an infinitesimal warmth in all the cold. He clung to it. A flash, an image. Richard looking panicked below, as he very well knew he would. Wiggling his fingers and teasing the boy. He was a pretty thing, an innocent and innocents were always the most fun. A stray he hadn't thought would last the first day. He should have teased him more – implied that there were purple man-eating monsters that hid in every closet and under every bed in London Below. Now, he'd probably know better. A shame, it would have been such fun, too...

This was the first bit of warmth he'd felt since Croup and Vandemar pared him down with their blades. Wouldn't it be a riot if death could be conquered by all those cliche things – love, friendship, the lot? The one thing which made him most useful now was his downfall. Life – or perhaps _death_ was nothing if not a series of ironies.

The Marquis did not keep friends, per se. He kept company, had good times, but always kept everyone exactly where he wanted them, and that in itself was not conducive for friendship. Most people knew very well that the Marquis did not do things for free, and that whatever kindness he bestowed would come with a heavy price, or even, a caveat to be told at his leisure.

Richard Mayhew was not his friend, not a lover or a intended lover, merely an amusing plaything at times, and an annoyance at others But at this point, in this horrible cold, this was the closest thing to heat he could find, so he focused.

And he watched from his perch on death. It was one good thing, beyond the cold. He saw things in death that he couldn't possibly in life, and as far as he knew, it'd be remembered.. He stored little bits of information deep down. A useful tidbit here, a bit of blackmail there...

He focused on the warmth to beat back the horrible chill seeping into his – what was it? He hadn't any bones here, just ether. Whatever it was, it was worse than the worst winter he'd ever experienced – which had been in 1835, incidentally. Frozen bodies of birds and poor wretches littered the streets. People had walked over them as if it were any other day – at least, when they weren't looting the bodies, that was.

The spark grew as he caught sight of Richard, coming out from his ordeal. A shame to have missed it, but he was a little busy being brutally murdered by his own design and gathering information. Still, he was impressed. What a lucky bastard this boy was.

He smiled despite himself, and felt the bit of warmth increase through the rippling dark. Fondness, that's what it was. He had grown fond of Richard without even meaning to. It had snuck up on him, and he could not emphasize enough, it was very hard to sneak up on him in any respect. He clapped, a silent clap in the realm of ether. Bravo, Richard Mayhew. Good show.

**.**

By the time he was back in the living, coatless, rasping and limping, they'd already left the market. It was an annoyance, but knowing the information he did, the information he'd traded his life for in a very painful manner, he knew where they'd be. He'd been to Down Street before, thought not quite _all_ the way.

Old Baily had walked with him to the point, far past what he had. It seemed more suspicion than actual benevolence or kindness. There was, after all, no love lost between them.

He took a glance to his feathered companion. "Old Baily...would you happen to have a spare Crossbow. I seem to have misplaced mine along with my coat." He smiled, sardonic.

Old Baily Squinted up at him. "You still owe me for the information."

"And of course, I will pay as soon as I get settled. Dying does so much take out of one."

Old Baily shrugged. "I can find you one. Hammersmith owes me something. A pittance, but he always has weapons around."

"Name your price," he said. Bored, distracted, he opened and closed his fingers to bring circulation back to them.

"New glasses. These ones have scratches on them, and the left one got cracked when a bird tried to fly coop the other day."

"A high price, but not impossible. I accept."

"Good. I'll just be getting you your crossbow, then," he said.

"And Old Baily... do hurry, please. Time is of the essence."

"Right then." Old Baily nodded and bustled off. The Marquis leaned against an alcove and closed his eyes. He hadn't spied any of his old enemies, and at this point, there wasn't anything to mug him for. Just to be on the safe side, he pulled the blanket formed into a poncho of sorts over his head.

When he opened his eyes again, it'd been what, fifteen, perhaps thirty minutes?

He could only hope that they were particularly slow or prone to chatting for long periods of time and idling in stairwells – or perhaps, an attack of nerves at heights? That would be a convenient thing to have happen right about now.

**.  
**  
Unlike Richard, the Marquis had no fear of heights. He could cross heights of Down Street in an almost bored fashion – which admittedly was more fun if someone terrified of high places was there to be shocked as how nonchalant he could be.

He'd felt a pain in his side as he walked. He thought ribs might be broken, and there was still an untreated wound spanning from his hip upwards where Vandemar had inserted a knife at random at a shallow point to hurt, maim, and yet not kill him. He leaned down over the railing and caught sight of them. Hunter and Door walked ahead. He searched for the rest of the part, and found Richard in the thrall of a Velvet. Rage flowed through him. The Upworlder had beaten all to be taken down by the seduction of a Velvet – one who had made her intentions ever so clear. The question _was he an utter fool_? never crossed his mind for he already was well aware of the answer. He was a damn lucky fool, one who'd already made through things that others would have died ten times over, only to be taken down by the most obvious of obvious traps _a Velvet_ . He might as well have tried to curl beside a lion and patted its great mane.

What was wrong with his companions? Richard Mayhew, innocent Upworlder extrodinaire might not see what a Velvet, was, but Door? Hunter? Did they suddenly stop caring? When he was the most benevolent of them, there was a big problem.

The Marquis summoned what little strength he had gotten back in his trip and squeezed at the Velvet's throat. She was too interested in her delicious, tender, and very stupid prey to notice.

_Give it back. Give him back his life_.

He'd demand a favor later, for saving one's life always bestowed great favors. Richard Mayhew had no idea that in fact, The Marquis was _returning_ a favor. And he planned to keep it that way. Focusing on him, even if only for the amusement, or a faint appreciation of his boyish, rumbled look had given him a focal point when the pain and cold came to its worst. One could almost say that Richard had unwittingly saved him, even if the plans were all made by the Marquis himself. One could plan for death, but having never experienced it, the Marquis didn't know what to expect.

He said more than he needed to, but fondness did that to one. It gave a vested interest in keeping said person alive. And through it all, the battle with the beast, outwitting the angel, the final moments, one pressing thought (other than _I'm far too pretty and talented to die here_) was that he'd sorely underestimated Richard. It wasn't a mistake he'd make twice.

**.  
**  
You can never go home again. The Marquis de Carabas knew this instinctively, as one of his most guarded secrets was that he had once been an Upworlder. He was never as innocent as Richard, for back then he'd been much the same as what he was down here: a thief, a hustler, a man of many odd jobs, however mercenary. He preferred it down here. More colorful people, more interesting, and barter was a more original game than simply pounds and dollars. Not to mention that he'd been able to keep his life elsewhere, which was nigh impossible there, and keep his age at a nice thirty-five when he'd passed that number long ago.

So, part from amusement, part from people's constant begging for him to retell his part in the story was wearing even _him_ down, the Marquis kept an eye on Richard. And as expected, he was not doing so well in his new-old life. It was good to see him send away the woman he had been attached to before, but the part with him waving his knife like a maniac was not his brightest moment.

That Marquis had warned him the first time not to step in too deep, but had he listened? No. They never did.

The one thing that Richard Mayhew hadn't asked was how to get back. Of course, the Marquis could have pulled him into the shadows, up against his coat or come in front of him, but that would be breaking the rules, and he'd already done that once. As much as he was one for being nonlinear, there was only so much cheating one could do of reality before it came back to haunt one, so to speak.

There only had to be a will, a wish and he would fall back to London Below. Say too much, and an interest comes in. A subconscious – or not so subconscious curiosity starts. And then, through the cracks to London below.

Just a will, a want, a wish.

The Marquis smiled. The sound of knife on stone was such a sweet sound. It was a rudimentary door, but still a door.

He held his arms out. Even his welcoming moments had a bit of a sardonic light in them.

_Coming?_

**.**

He guided Richard along for a quarter of a mile before he stopped for a rest. During this time he had left Richard to his thoughts, but now he broke the silence.

"I've figured out which favor to ask for," The Marquis said.

"Favor?" Richard said.

The Marquis de Carabas gave a toothy grin in his direction. "For saving your life, of course. Twice now, in fact. You see, people like Door might not calculate little thing, but I am not quite so kind. To me, everything has a price."

"What is it then?"

"You'll be my traveling companion. I think you'll make a nice good luck charm. A bone would be nice, but all of them would be even better."

"You'll probably have to save my life again," Richard said. Even if he had grown, and had slayed the beast of London below, Richard Mayhew was pragmatic. There were still things he didn't know about, and the Marquis was not the type to keep safe company.

"All the better. That means limitless favors. In fact, I encourage you to go right into danger. Go on. It'll only give me more to ask in the end."

"To be honest, I'm not sure what I could give in return for those favors. I've got some lint in my pocket, a penny and some quartz – but that I won't give. It's special. You can have the things in my old flat for bargaining, I suppose. I don't think any of those are enough for saving a life."

The Marquis stroked his chin theatrically in a parody of deep thought. "Hmm. I wonder what you could do, hero of London Below, slayer of the beast, and friend to Door – not even taking into account that you are Sir Richard of Mayberry, who was given complete freedom of London below – . I can't _imagine_ what I could use you for."

"Well, there's that," Richard admitted.

"You're not quite the man who first found me, Richard," The Marquis said with something in his voice nearing affection.

"Well, thanks. I'd say that you aren't the same, but I'm pretty sure the only thing that's changed was a trip to the underworld and different pants."

Richard still had that rumpled, boyish look, and had only matured inwardly. Yes, it was there, a fondness as he had first realized in the icy throes of death. And yet, not all fondness was inherently weak. In this case, the affection could be quite useful.

He was going to keep Richard around for a very long time.


	2. Below

Title: Below  
Series: Neverwhere  
Character/Pairing: Marquis de Carabas, Richard. Preslashy. Also Door makes an appearance.  
Rating: PG/PG-13 in earlier parts.  
Author's note: Done for Misura at help_haiti. The prompt was 'cats and dogs or milk and cookies.'

**.**

When had London Below become his home? Funny, he'd spent most of his time here terrified, hungry, cold and wanting to go home and when he got there, all he wanted was to go back. It was a place like a long dream, where with each new wonder he would think to pinch himself in a discreet manner on his arm to prove that he wasn't sleeping.

The Marquis lead the way with long stride. He was hard to keep up with, especially with the way Richard was taking in the sights of London Below like a tourist absorbing every sight before his eventually blindness.

It didn't help that he was going through a fairly complicated route to a place that he had a definite clue of where it was leading, but Richard didn't have the slightest clue about. Finally, when he was far enough off that he was almost lost in the crowd, the Marquis stopped, turned and cast a caustic glance his way.

"Do you wish to cling to my coattails, or would holding my hand suffice?" The Marquis said. His voice was suitably sarcastic. Richard dodged yet another traveler. Marquis certainly hadn't chosen the path less traveled, that was for sure.

"I'm coming, I'm coming. I keep getting lost in the crowd. You know how bad the London Floating Market is."

"So I see," he replied, sounding more amused than annoyed this time. He waited while Richard made his way to the mass of strange people that came to this sort of thing, and joined him.

"Are we there yet?" Richard said as he caught his breath.

"Almost," de Carabas said in an singsong tone.

"Define 'almost'."

"Forty-five minutes to an hour, I estimate."

"An hour? An _hour_? We've been walking since five in the morning! I've gotten lost five times and still haven't eaten a bite and we're still not there yet?"

He got cranky when he was hungry, Richard had to admit. He felt a bit childish for that outburst, but his stomach was killing him and his feet hurt and the people were pushing him back. All that didn't combine to make him in a good mood. All he wanted was a nice alcove to curl up in after a bite to eat.

Richard was not, in any way, shape or form, a morning person.

However, the Marquis was not one to be taken aback by this..or much of anything, really. He had one hand on hip and looked down from his superior height.

"We will eat soon enough, there is simply something that needs to be attended to first," he said, slowly, as if he were talking to a child who did not quite comprehend the meaning of the words.

Before Richard could make a retort, he was pushed aside by a stout man and shoved to wall. More people passed and it was only when the Marquis thrust his hand out and pulled him over that he was able to regain his balance and reentry the road without being knocked aside.

The Marquis sighed. "You do know you'll be paying for this."

"Paying for wh—"

It was broken off as the Marquis hoisted him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Despite feeling dizzy and chastened, Richard said nothing, because he had a feeling that if he made even one little complaint, the Marquis might drop him on the pavement and leave him. It was always certainly a possibility when traveling with someone like De Carabas. His face was against the coat, and Marquis' back. The coat itself almost deserved to be called _The Coat_, as if it were the capitol of the land of Marquis de Carabas. Richard noted, as he always did when this near the Marquis, that he smelled good for someone in London Below. He always had an air about him, like spices and musk and mystery, Unlike the sweat and work and metal smell of Hammersmith; the birdshit, and airy scent of Old Baily; the musty smell of Door, like old flowers kept in an attic and dried so that the essence was faint.

Before he knew it, they were there...wherever there was. The Marquis let him down, and was kind enough to not drop him on his head on the pavement.

"That barely took five minutes," Richard said.

"I was adding the time you'd take by being distracted, getting lost or pushed aside by crowds."

It was a lonely end of a courtyard with a brick wall that had seen better days. There was graffiti plastered over it, but it looked more like modern day cavemen art than gang signs. For just a moment, the door seemed to shimmer and ripple, as if it were made of water, and then a girl emerged.

"Richard!"

He'd barely had a chance to react before she flung her arms around him in a hug. He was caught off guard, but in a good way.

"I thought I'd never see you again. Is everything alright? The Marquis said it was important. Did he kidnap you?"

The Marquis lifted a brow. "You can't kidnap the willing...at least, not unless it's a plot involving intrigue and blackmail. Which in this case, it isn't."

"All this time I wanted to go home but in the time I'd left, I'd changed. So...I'm back here now. For good," Richard said. He tried to smile in a reassuring way, but it merely came out awkward and apologetic.

"I'm glad to hear it," she said.

"Any luck finding her then? Your sister, I mean," Richard asked.

Her face fell, which was really all the answer he needed.

"Oh...sorry."

"I've been looking around but they left no clues. But, I'll just keep looking and then..." She finished by biting her lip, and he patted her on the shoulder.

"If you can outwit an angel then you can find your sister."

"Do you have plans on where you're going to go? I'm sure the Earl would be glad to have you in his court."

"Well, uh. The Marquis wants me to travel with him a bit to repay the favor I owe him."

"I guess that's one way to spend it...though I'm surprised he didn't ask for something like entrance to the Earl's court, or I don't know...kept it away for some rainy day like I'm sure he's keeping my favor," she said.

"Yes, because my life is incomplete without Tooley's witticisms," De Carabas said. He yawned to punctuate his point.

"I'm hoping there will be some clue here. Anyways, we should get going. We might miss some of the early birds if we don't hurry. Those are always the best tasting ones."

She walked ahead of him, and Marquis looked back. The morning had left him more than a little tetchy was well.

"If you don't hurry up we'll leave you behind to fend for yourself," he said.

"He doesn't mean it. I won't let him," Door said.

"She's right. As tempting as it is at the moment, you still owe me favors," the Marquis said.

"Plural already? And you've barely been here a week?" Door said.

"I'm pretty sure he's adding up a charge for everything from directions to bringing me here," Richard replied with a certain resignation that wasn't despondent, but simply accepting his indebtedness to be a fact of life.

"I take whatever I can get," the Marquis said with a smile.

**.**

Learning the ropes the second time around was a lot easier, though the Marquis was a far less patient, or even helpful guide than Hunter and Door were. Richard always had to take a second glance to make sure that he wasn't being toyed with. Even then, it's hard to tell as his smile always has a edge of malice in it even when he was being nice (or at least, the Marquis' version of nice).

Still, Richard was learning his way quite well now. He was learning how to haggle, to bargain, and there were promises of future Ratspeaking and Pigionspeaking lessons, though those were from Door, not the Marquis.

Cats and dogs roamed the streets in every alley and around every corner.. He threw them scraps whenever he found them on the street, even if De Carabas disapproved of giving anything for free, there's still a part of Richard that couldn't resist giving things to anything dirty and needy. They're just so bony and shy, with mange and bald patches that he can never resist helping, even if just a little. The Marquis has on more than one occasion, pointed out that this is entirely the reason how he got down here in the first place – to which Richard agreed. If he hadn't stopped to save Door that night, he'd probably have the same dull job and be married to Jessica in some bland flat. He'd never have known hunger, or cold, or danger, or fear.

Which is exactly his point as to why he should give whenever possible. Who knew what path it might lead him on?

**.**

Door went off to make some queries, and Richard made his way to the first food stall he could find. The Marquis idled behind him, electing to get food, or simply staying with Richard to ensure that he damn well got his favors and Richard didn't get kidnaped by Sewer Folk or something. He wasn't sure which. With no Croup and Vandemar about, Door could go off on her own without them worrying for her safety too much. So Richard let that worry slide and simply focused on the wonderfulness that was the promise of food. The smell of food to the hungry was a heaven of its own, really. People didn't really know how good spiceless, bland food made from birds and a bit of broth could taste until they'd been really hungry. He'd always taken it for granted up there in London Above, but here he savored every bit as if it might be his very last. The line thinned and he took a look at the food that was placed before him in a little bowl.

"It's starling, right?" He looked to the Marquis for validation.

"No, it's milk and cookies. What do you think?"

"Just making sure it isn't cat."

He never could look at Fluffy, the white Persian in the flat across his the same way afterwards. All he could envision was that little hairless body on a spit, something that looked like it should be some woodland creature and not an animal better suited for sitting on window ledges or walking the streets.

"For your information, cat isn't that plentiful around here. It's mostly a Ratspeaker and Sewer Folk thing. Unless they're particularly desperate, that is." The Marquis said.

"And dog? Do they eat them down here too?"

"I suppose they could eat them, though it's not very common. Dogs are useful as guards and to keep people alert. And of course, companions. But then, when people are desperate enough, they'll even eat human if it means surviving," The Marquis said. He said this flippantly, as if it were little more than talking about London Above's traffic problem and not _cannibalism._

"If they're so useful, why didn't you ever get a dog?" Richard asked, if only to take his mind from the horrifying images the mention of cannibalism brought to his mind.

"My dear boy, I have you, which is one step better."

"Wait you're saying—"

He smirked. "Well, if the collar fits."

**.**

Door left before dark, citing that another lead had come up. That night he settled under the stars with the Marquis possibly asleep there close near him He wasn't entirely sure he wasn't just feigning sleep. Being as it was the Marquis, one could never tell. The ground was cold, and wasn't anything like sleeping on his comfortable mattress. Still, for the first time since he'd gone back, he fell asleep with a clear mind. The aching in his calves from so much walking was a welcome friend.

Richard dreamt not of beasts, but of Anesthesia, and a girl who he didn't recognize, but looked similar to Door. They looked as if they were trapped in a prison of glass and shadows. They said things, but all he saw were mouthed words because the place sucked away all the sound. He could never lipread well.

When he woke up, the sky still dark, and morning a long ways off. He held to the solidity of the quartz, the last remnants of a girl named Anesthesia.


	3. How Richard Mayhew Got His Coat

Title: How Richard Mayhew Got His Coat  
Day/Theme: 1/23) a pretty traffic with known correspondents  
Series: Neverwhere  
Character/Pairing: Marquis de Carabas, Richard, OMC. At this point it's preslash.  
Rating: PG? PG-13?

**.**

The next Market date was in Warwickshire, and three days hence from the last one in London. During that time, he noted that his companion lacked something quite important.. Richard was in his usual dull sweater, now made ratty from their travels, and of an indeterminate color which was only a bit more brownish-grey than it was when he started out. It hadn't even been that long, but London Below was ever so hard on clothes. And the nights were growing colder now, the days soon would join them.

No, that wouldn't do at all.

So it was that when the day of the Warwickshire floating market came about, the Marquis pushed through the crowd until he was right where he was looking for. Mr. Dunwick Taylor was a man who seemed to have nothing excessive, which was also how he did his craft. There wasn't one extra stitch in his work, and it was built to last, and last it did. Even with assorted beast hunting, angelic plans being thwarted and Croup and Vandemar (who were a category of their own).

Being part of Below (not merely limited to London Below, mind) he was used to stitching back together ripped rags, adding more rags, and making something usable out of the sundry of materials that came to him. He was also used to being paid in marbles, pens, half of sandwiches and handkerchiefs for his work.

He had a shanty built for him by Hammersmith as a large trade. In there was a rusted sewing machine, which seemed more for decor as Dunwick stitched his things by hand. He was a little man with rough, unkempt brows of the same shade as his balding, mousy hair. Of course, most didn't know that, as because of said hair loss, he always wore a hat pulled down low, which gave him even more of a suspicious air.

Richard looked about, but asked nothing. He was getting good at merely watching what de Carabas did, and putting it away. If he really had to know, he'd ask later.

He learned well, the Marquis could say that about him for sure.

"Your favorite customer has returned," the Marquis said with flourish.

Taylor looked appraising, but guarded. As if perhaps he'd been thrown over a few too many times.

He looked Richard's way and nodded meaningfully. "I'm looking for a coat. A well made one, of course, but not quite with the flourish of mine. Something more utilitarian."

Taylor looked over to Richard, whose back was to them, and then back to the Marquis.

"What's yer payment?"

"You're working on the slayer of the beast of London below. Isn't that payment enough?"

"No," Taylor said mirthlessly. "S'not."

The Marquis sighed theatrically. "It was worth a try. It seems to only work on young impressionable and dreamy young girls."

"Well, bring 'em over 'ere," Taylor said.

Richard looked up from his avid watching of the other stalls. Apparently he'd been so engrossed that he missed the whole conversation. All the better.

"You're talking to me?"

"course, yer bein' fitted."

"Fitted?" Richard repeated. He looked to the Marquis, but his expression revealed nothing. "The trip wasn't for you?"

The Marquis shook his head, his smile was a faint slip of amusement.

And then Richard was being prodded and poked and tied in old, browned measuring tape. Taylor worked fast when he mad, and he was always mad in some way or another.

When it was over, Richard still looked a bit dazed as they walked away from the stall. "And what now then?"

"We bide our time. Coats, like Rome, are not built in a day," the Marquis replied.

"How long do you think it will take, then?"

"Oh, we'll know when it's finished. We'll know."

He left it at that, and Richard didn't ask more.

**.**

It was three market days past until he came to the stall again. Just in time for the cold snap to come, incidentally – though it'd come a bit early. Richard had been rubbing at the sleeves of his sweater and breathing on his hands.

Richard tried on the coat. It was similar to the Marquis in its many pockets, but of a brown shade of varying colors, with several different types of cloth stitched together in a patchwork manner. It lacked the the lace cuffs and other frippery of the Marquis', which was just fine as it fit Richard quite well in both personality and size.

He stretched out his shoulders and arms on command, as the Marquis watched. This in itself was galling to Taylor, that anyone should dare to suggest that his works weren't perfect the first time around. Still, no matter what his reputation was, or even experience De Carabas didn't take chances when it came to such things.

And The Marquis pulled out his payment, an assortment of hats found, not limited to a straw hat with a wide brim to keep out the sun, a winter cap, and a purple elegant hat with a large feather that would look utterly ridiculous on him. The Marquis waited to see if this would be enough, or if more would be demanded on account of some tacked on duty.

The little man looked for a long time, his thick brows furrowed, and finally he gave a quick, curt nod. De Carabas crooked his finger in a _come hither_ motion, and Richard, who had actually been paying attention this time, obeyed.

He took no time in admiring it, but put it on immediately and pulled it close. His hands were balled under the sleeves. Apparently gloves were the next thing to get him.

"And thank you for this fine transaction as always," The Marquis said.

Taylor didn't say anything. He merely turned back to his sewing machine with a series of unintelligible grumbles, ones most likely aimed at themselves.

"I somehow feel you've got an angle here," Richard said as they ambled away from the stall.

"Why yes. Richard Mayhew, I _do_ have an angle. I always have an angle. You're walking storage space. That, is the return for the favor of a coat – a very expensive coat, mind you."

Richard turned up the hem of his sleeve and admired the handiwork for the first time. "I think it's a fair enough trade."

"Mind that you pay in extra favors if you lose anything. I'll even let you store things of your own in there. I'm very kind, I know. And that's not the entirety of the favor, but we won't get into such extraneous details now."

Richard seemed about to say something in protest, but stopped, as if accepting the inevitability of the eternal fine print involved with working under his stead. He mentally clicked off what to buy in his mind. Food, warmth, and of course whatever might be useful in the end.

"And you won't be cold," the Marquis said, as a final touch, almost an afterthought. He straightened Richard's collar, and didn't immediately pull his hand away. Richard didn't shrink away.

"Now to get you some gloves. And possibly a hat and scarf," De Carabas said.

"I suppose I'll have to pay for that too?" Richard said.

"No doubt," Marquis said cheerily.

"You're a pretty expensive companion. At this rate I'm going to be in debt for the rest of my life," Richard said.

The Marquis smiled. Oh yes. That was entirely the point.


	4. Black Coffee Blush

Title: Black Coffee Blush  
Day/Theme: 1/20) excite those ideas in me  
Series: Neverwhere  
Character/Pairing: Marquis de Carabas, Richard. Preslashy.  
Rating: currently the default rating is PG/PG-13. It'll go higher later.

** .**

The Marquis washed the bad taste of morning out of his mouth with some tepid water. Well, that was the last of his stores, he'd have to refill at the next fountain or barter with the next person he found. Having two people was a drawback as it lessened the stores, though on a plus side, Richard could carry more water with him, so he supposed it evened itself out in the end.

The Marquis was used to waking up first, but for once, he'd somehow slept in. He opened up one eye in a pretense of sleepiness, for he'd been awake a short while and simply listening to gather the situation around him.

What trouble had the boy gotten himself into now? Even if Richard was getting better, he still wasn't quite adept enough to be left on his own just yet.

"Coffee. A girl gave it to me for free once I told her my name. I saved you some."

De Carabas' ears perked up. "For free?"

"Yes."

Another fan. News had spread like wildfire after the slaying. Quite so, as he'd been the one to feed it to the rumor mills. He might have exaggerated it a bit, but what was a story without exaggeration? Boring, that's what it was. So he might have implied that Richard was fall more valorous than the reality, where he was shaking and probably pissing his pants as the beast came by. It was much more entertaining – and useful. Sir Richard of Mayberry, indeed.

He took the cup and sipped at the coffee. Black, with no milk and sugar, and mighty strong stuff as well. Still, it was fresher than most of the drinks one got were. He was more a tea man himself, but it was good. Far more uncommon down here than the upworlder who had one every morning.

His gaze flitted to Richard. "And what did you tell her?"

"Only that I was traveling with you as your companion. She seemed disappointed after that, I can't imagine why," Richard mused. He rubbed at his stubble, mulling it over in a way that showed that he was thinking of every possibility save for the obvious.

"I can't imagine why," the Marquis said, his voice silky, with hidden amusement and secrets of his own. He wondered how talkative this girl was. By noon would the story be spread about that they were lovers – to think _them_, the Upworlder hero and the Marquis – well, the Marquis wasn't _so_ much a surprise, considering— He mimicked their voices even when mulling it over in his mind.

Then he wondered whether to do damage control, or to play with it. It could be quite amusing to imply that they were bedfellows. Something he could report with some accuracy given that they were. Not of the sexual kind at the moment, but if anyone were to ask Richard Mayhew's sleeping habits, the Marquis could go on at length.

Besides, while he wasn't entirely opposed to the idea of sleeping with Richard, nothing would compare to the enjoyment that would be watching Richard's face once the rumor got back to him, and then teasing him about it. At every possible opportunity. It could even be a running joke to imply that Richard had misunderstood what exactly he had been asking in this favor. Maybe he'd even blush. For everything yet, he'd not gotten Richard to blush yet. Which was a shame, as Richard was prime blushing material here. He could probably stutter and color like some schoolboy with the right provocation.

Yes, he was liking this more and more...

"You look like you've just hatched up some evil plan. Did I miss something?" Richard asked.

"Nothing at all of matter, my dear boy," the Marquis said with a wide grin. "Nothing at all."


	5. Most Agreeable

Title: Most Agreeable  
Series: Neverwhere  
Character/Pairing: Marquis de Carabas, Richard. Preslash. Also Door.  
Rating: PG? PG-13?

"There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well.  
The more I see of the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the dependence that can be placed on the appearance of either merit or sense."  
Pride and Prejudice

**.**

The Marquis lifted a brow. Door had been here recently, he could smell her on the air. He looked around, but saw no trace of her. The camp was still in a bit of disarray. Richard had managed a tent for them on the most preposterous of terms. A tent for simply a kiss from the Upworlder? She was apparently too shy to ask for a night with him, which Richard himself would be too shy for as well. They couldn't afford a favor that big, anyways. There likely wasn't something you could get Richard Mayhew to pay with his body for – save for perhaps, saving his life. And the Marquis de Carabas had a monopoly on saving Richard's life. In fact, just the other day there'd been a bone in that Starling stew, and he'd had to preform the Heimlich maneuver and added yet another Big Favor to his list.

Richard was wrapped in a bundle of blankets – Now neither of them were fond of the cold, the Marquis even less so than Richard. In his hand was propped a paperback of some kind which he had only just put down at his approach. The Marquis de Carabas couldn't quite catch the title from this distance.

"She said to tell you 'Hi.' she didn't have time but to give me something."

"And I take it she wasn't in any danger?"

"No, just a hurry," Richard answered. "She had a thing...A lead..." he trailed off and made some motion with his left hand to convey something, but the Marquis had already lost interest. If there was no profit to be made in it, thus he was hardly going to ask how her jam and tea was this morning.

The Marquis de Carabas was always on the look out for favors, especially when it came to her clan. He already had one packed away for a rainy day but he was always willing to add more to the list. One could never have too many favors from a clan of that could open any door you wished.

"Hers?" The Marquis said, nodding towards the paperback.

"Yes. Before she said I had to read it when she realized I hadn't. There wasn't time then, obviously."

"Obviously. And what did you pay for that?" The Marquis said. He was always keenly interested in what Richard had bartered, if only because Richard was one who could very easily get swindled. His Upworlder ways tended to make him disregard things which he could get much more for. Some kind people added more to make up the use of a pen, or errant matchbook. More gave him half of what such a valuable thing was worth.

"She didn't charge me," Richard said. "We're friends. Besides, it's more a loan than really giving it to me.. She said she has a whole lot of books locked away in some cache and that I'm welcome to borrow them. Though she'd have to be the one to get me there."

"Does she now?" De Carabas said. Paperbacks did not interest him much. There was too much stillness involved. He wasn't entirely opposed to being read to, however, but he would have to be very tired and near sleep before he'd submit to it.

"You're fond of it, I take?"

"It's called a classic for a reason. I didn't think I would, but it's rather...addictive."

That night, while Richard was asleep, the Marquis slipped a peek between the covers of the book. He'd never let Richard see that he might actually care to what he was interested in. De Carabas scrunched up his nose after a few pages of very agreeable conversations, alacrity, teas, balls, and lack of anything nearing erotica. So the Marquis set himself back to being disinterested. Taste was a personal thing, and he wasn't about to begrudged Richard his, even if it baffled him.

The Marquis thought nothing more of the books Richard had taken to reading whenever possible, other than to shake his head and agree to not comprehend why Richard had suddenly seemingly fallen in love with this author. It wasn't as if Richard had taken to dice or wasting things that could be bartered, so he made no complaint. Still, it was a little mystifying and yet quite amusing. Someone was certainly getting in touch with his feminine side.

**.**

And then came the worst, the part where he had to really hold back to keep his brow-rasing confusion at bay – when they they formed a book club in his camp. A book club about _Jane Austen_.

He supposed it was good to see Door looking a little less worried for once. Not that he particularly cared about her well-being, but she looked better when she was smiling. He whittled away at a bit of wood while they sat together, talking about books they had read.

"Henry Crawford is too nice to be a villain, I think. All I got from him was that he felt immature and a bit vain," Richard said.

"Are you the type who wished him to go off with Fanny?"

"Well, not entirely. He never struck me as a villain, though. He was too...forgivable, I guess is the word."

"He was too charming to hate?" Door asked, with a trace of amusement.

"That too," Richard admitted.

"So," Door said, nudging him and sneaking a glance at de Carabas, "Which is he most like, do you think?"

The Marquis stayed with what he was whittling. However, upon realizing he was being talked about, his ears pricked up.

"Mr. Elliot I think. But with a nicer streak."

"If you're talking about me, I hope you aren't insulting me by attributing me some kindness. It's bad for my image," De Carabas said without looking up.

Door smiled. "Guilty as charged. Richard here seems to think that deep down you're a good person. The type who secretly snuggles kittens and only wears a mask to keep the world from his sensitive soul."

He stared pointedly at Richard.

"I didn't say that, not in so many words, no. But you did save my life," Richard protested. "And you share food with me."

"Which I charged you for – and I charge you for that too. It's hardly charity."

"He never could quite say how utterly dodgy you are. He was always going 'well, maybe a_ little bit_ dodgy.' like he was apologizing for you," Door said with a certain trace of amused smugness.

Richard looked a mite bit uncomfortable. He shifted under their gaze. "Well, he's not _that_ bad."

"Oh Richard, you're hopeless," Door said. She sounded brighter than she had in a while, and was almost close to smiling. And yet, there was a quality that made her sound old beyond her years. Almost as if she was about to tell Richard that he'd understand when he was older.

The Marquis returned to his whittling. Still, he kept one ear open and alert. Just in case.


	6. Back Alley Bend

Title: Back Alley Bend  
Series: Neverwhere  
Character/Pairing: Marquis de Carabas, Richard, OMCs, OFCs, Door.  
Rating: PG-13  
Author's note: Phew, this took longer than I would've liked but life + the amount of revision it took for me to not hate this chapter equals well, more time. However, the next two chapters are mostly written. Well, the next one needs a little checking over, but the one after that is entirely finished and has been for a while.

**. **

The Marquis lead him down a shady place, now. In dark alleys of London Below, places he'd never been when he was an Upworlder, let alone down here. Most tipped their hats as he passed. Everyone seemed to know him in a place like this.

She was clothed in an assortment of clothes, like much of London Below. The biggest difference was that she wore a lot less than they did. Her bodice dipped startlingly low, so much that it barely contained her large, supple breasts.

"Why if it isn't the Marquis," she said in a high pitched nasal whine. It reminded him of a joke that Gary had made once about a girlfriend that went something like _there was only one way to shut her up._

The Marquis nodded to her.

"The players are around the back if you're interested," she said. "Theys been wondering what took you so long. Theys thought maybe yous lost interest."

"I'm always interested," the Marquis said.

When they had passed by her, Richard stole a glance at his companion.

"A friend?" Richard queried.

"A whore," the Marquis said amiably. "We've done business together."

Richard looked only a mite bit taken aback, more surprised than dismayed, really.

"And not of the sort she usually partakes in. I had to find a customer for her in return for a favor. And it wasn't of that kind either," the Marquis said. "I've yet to use that favor yet, come to think of it."

"Right then," Richard said.

"It's fairly common around here to occasionally offer oneself as part of a bargain. If one gets on hard times and that's all to offer, well, it beats starving. Some take it on as a trade if they're talented or good-looking enough."

"So you've–"

The Marquis smiled. "Now, now, Richard. Don't be getting nosy. No one likes a _snoop_."

Which Richard thought was probably a nice way of saying _I'm fairly fond of you and you're quite useful, so don't force me to silence you to keep my secrets._

Traveling with the Marquis could almost lull one into a false sense of security. He was a witty, charming person with a distinctly shady side. Or as Door had put it '_kind of' shady in the way that rats are 'kind of' covered in fur_. When it came to the question of how far De Carabas would go to keep his secrets, or in other respect, Richard wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. He had a feeling it was a subject best left untouched.

**.**

The interior was dingy and smoky, almost by design. People in rags with lowered glances looked over their games. Some were the types of games he knew, such as dice and cards. There were a few others that he wasn't so accustomed to, such as a game involving knives being stabbed in-between splayed fingers. A man leaned in the doorway that lead in deeper to the place. He wore a threadbare sweater that was loose enough to droop and expose one of his bony shoulders. He had a boyish face and hazel eyes, which were now a shade of brown. A disapproving, harsh brown. His lips were ruddy, and chapped with a bit of white on the side of his face.

"You've got a bit of food on your face," Richard said. He brushed at the side of his mouth to demonstrate.

The boy looked up, a challenging gaze. He spat at the floor.

"Pleasant as always, I see, Darren," De Carabas said.

Darren's face did not soften when it came to the Marquis, but there was an unidentified spark in his eyes.

"And is this one a friend of yours? Or..whatever you call your business associates."

"I don't keep friends, Richard. He's another whore, actually."

"Oh," Richard said. "Wait, what category do I fall into?"

"Hmm, I wonder," The Marquis said with an enigmatic smile. He lead the way to a table with a particularly conspicuous lot. Leave it to De Carabas to choose the worst of them. Richard pulled his coat a little closer around him. The walls did little to stifle the chill of the place; the wind found its way to every crack. Then again, it was always cold down here.

The Marquis kissed the dice for luck and handed it to Richard. However, he was distracted by Darren, who was glaring at him pointedly, as if personally offended by him. He wasn't just staring at him, every so often he'd glance over at the Marquis like some besotted schoolboy.

"Richard, your point isn't to stare at the whores, but to throw the dice. Unless you're interested in striking a bargain with them..."

Richard returned his attention to the game, and the Marquis' wry smile. He felt a bit abashed over the whole thing, and tried to change the subject away from the subject of whores.

"I've never cast dice before."

"Luck is obviously on your side. You wouldn't still be alive without it," The Marquis said.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence on my skills," Richard said.

Richard took a breath and threw them. These weren't just regular dice, but squares with different prints with animals carved into the sides. He had no idea what an alligator, a boar and a tiger added up to, but that was what he'd gotten. Apparently it was good, as the Marquis was satisfied with it. He cast several more lots, with such results as weasel, cow and seal, to boar, seal and tiger. No one cared to explain the rules of this game, least of all the Marquis, so Richard just threw blindly. Whatever the rules were, they were winning by quite a margin. So it went for a while, before the Marquis pulled out _before the luck turned_ and collected some assorted odds and ends that made up any payment of London Below.

One of the men (he never had caught any of their names) looked him up and down and smirked.

"Nice _traveling companion there_."

"Yes, he is, isn't he?" The Marquis replied with false sweetness.

It took Richard a moment to get the joke that was being passed around. He knew it was something sexual, obviously, but his mind didn't connect exactly what they were implying, and what De Carabas wasn't denying. He wasn't a schoolgirl, but he was still sure his cheeks were a bit red.

"..I'm going out to get some soup," he said.

"Mm. Don't stray far," the Marquis replied absently as he settled his affairs.

**.**

Richard had been walking around in a daze for a while. He knew it wasn't that bright an idea to get separated from The Marquis, but he needed some air and figured deep down that the Marquis would find him one way or another. People didn't slip through De Carabas' hands, he didn't _let_ them.

She slipped her arm in the crook of his arm and pulled him into another place. He blinked several times, still a mite bit confused from the shift.

"You should be more careful, Richard. There's no telling what kind of person I could have been," Door said.

It was a large library, filled with books from floor to ceiling on an assortment of shelves. Piles of books sat on the floors, turning it into labyrinthine, so much that Richard wondered if they could get lost in a place like this.

"You're all dirty. Where did he take you this time?"

"Some back ally somewhere. It was full of gamblers and whores."

She sighed. "Leave it to him to put you in that situation. You weren't hurt? Nothing stolen or otherwise molested?"

"No, not really. It bothers me a little bit, though," Richard said.

"That he might have had company with whores?" Door said.

"Not that."

"I wouldn't put it past him, certainly," she said. "Was it that it might be a male whore? I don't think he'd take advantage of you. Not on my watch, anyways."

"The idea of him liking men doesn't bother me," Richard said, thoughtful. "I mean, to each his own. This was really an arse, though."

Door paused a moment, taking this in. "You do know you sounded jealous at that moment."

Richard blinked. "Jealous? Jealous of what?"

"You don't mind that the Marquis prefers men, only that he prefers men _other than you._"

"I didn't say that," Richard protested.

"Not in so many words, but the implication was there."

Richard stopped, and leaned against a bookcase. There'd always been a...something. Richard didn't know how to define it, really. He'd been far too busy trying to find his way back Above to really acknowledge it, and it did take a while to really form. Now it was glaring him in the face. The Marquis had an allure to him, and Richard had always responded to it on some level. And now, without much to distract him, and with the Marquis' constant presence, something was taking shape inside him.

"Er, there's more..."

"There's _always_ more, isn't there?"

"They were all saying The Marquis and I were uh, a little closer than friends. The Marquis didn't exactly

"Well are you?" Door said.

"Am I what?"

She made a gesture with her fingers, crossing them like one would when telling a lie.

"Oh...no."

"Something tells me you're not too opposed to it, though," she said.

"It's crazy. Crazier than even most of the things down here," Richard said.

"I could threaten his life if he ever hurt you, but he'd probably just come back."

"Threatening the Marquis, even jokingly probably isn't the best idea," Richard said.

"Especially when I still owe him a favor," she said, nodding her head in agreement.

"So," Richard began, "I might be jealous over the fact that he might have once slept with a male rent boy. Am I missing anything here or did the world suddenly go mad again?"

Door laughed. "You sound like you used to, when you were a real Upworlder."

"I _feel_ like it did when I was a real Upworlder," Richard sighed.

"I should pick you out a good manly tragedy. All that Austen has gone to your mind and driven you mad." She searched the stacks of books, with classics of all kinds in thickly pound hardcovers and softcovers with much wear and tear at the spine.

"Richard the third? Hamlet? MacBeth?" Richard suggested.

"Tempting, but no," she said. Door scanned the bookcase, looking for just the right one.  
She searched high and low and finally procured whatever it was she was looking for.

"Naked Lunch?" Richard said. He looked up without quite saying the question.

"Well, it'll make you feel less mad and I can't think it will put any romantic notions in your head."

Richard took a final look at it and shrugging, put it into his coat pocket. "That works."

**.**

"I don't see what pretendin' to be infatuated with a boor like you was worth," Darren said. He stared up at De Carabas with a hateful expression.

"That is my business, and my amusement," the Marquis said breezily. "And now, your payment."

He rifled through his pockets for a moment, only a moment and came up with a small hard candy treat. The boy had a sweet tooth, especially for hard candy.

Darren scrunched up his nose. "Not nearly enough."

The Marquis rolled his eyes and got another candy, still wrapped and in perfect condition. "These are awful rare. Too rare for the likes of you." He threw a few more pieces of plastic wrapped candies and looked back

The seeds had been planted. Now the only thing to do was wait.

**.**

That night Richard stirred in his sleep, the name of _Anesthesia_ on his lips. De Carabas tried to recall the exact meaning of it. He thought he had heard it as some part of the medicinal profession, but it struck him that it could be a name.

Really, Richard was so transparent. He showed every emotion right on his face as they came to him. Anger, shame, sadness, guilt. He couldn't hide a thing.


	7. Night Ascending

Title: The Ascending Night  
Day/Theme: 4 . 18. In the night sky  
Series: Neverwhere  
Character/Pairing: Marquis de Carabas, Richard, Ingress, Anesthesia.  
Rating: PG-13  
Author's note: Meant to get a couple of these done last month, but didn't get to it...but hey, there's a new chapterlet to add on as well so it's all good.

**.**

If someone had once told him that he would fancy a man from another land who overall he could count what he knew of him on one hand, and half of it was purposely contradictory, then he would think them not quite sane. Then again, it was no less crazy then falling through the cracks to London Below, meeting angels and earls, and then, when he'd finally returning to a sane life, wanting to go back.

So Richard Mayhew decided to do a very stupid thing: he decided it was high time to break out of his routine and go on yet another...what would you call it – quest? Adventure? It wasn't really a new thing. He'd gone on that trip to the Orkneys when the girl who'd been his highschool sweetheart, who he was convinced he was going to marry threw him over just as school was ending. What was her name again? Moira? Miriam? Mary? He thought his life was over then.. and now he could barely remember her. The whole trip to London Below had eased the wounds of his break with Jessica. It was hard to feel sorry for himself, and think of nothing but her when he was fighting for his life with every minute.

Of course, in all those cases he was _away_ from the love in question. In this case, the enigmatic person who had managed to somehow catch his attention would be there, sleeping by him, working with him and being well, The Marquis. It was easier to explain his ways by going _Well, it's him we're talking about_ than actually explaining them.

When he came across the Marquis, he was struck by the little things he noticed. The almost feline grace, the quirk of his smug half smile – the kind which seemed so very knowing. He felt another wave of attraction and bit his tongue.

"What, cat got your tongue?" De Carabas said smoothly.

"Something like that," Richard said. And it was in fact, the truth. He pulled his jacket a little tighter, though it wasn't that cold. The Marquis raised a brow, and waited. He was beginning to catch on to Richard's mannerisms too as it was.

"I'm going to find a girl," Richard said.

"Behind the old Bluebell sign is where they should be around now, " The Marquis said absently. He did not look up from the pockets he was sorting through, searching for some unnamed thing. For a moment, Richard thought the nonchalance seemed oddly forced.

Richard wrinkled his nose. "Not _that_ kind of girl. She was a ratspeaker. Went by the name of Anesthesia.."

He paused a moment, as if waiting for the Marquis to react. He didn't.

"She disappeared on Knightsbridge. They said that sometimes they come back."

"Anything is possible," The Marquis replied.

"Do you know something?"

The Marquis regarded him. His hair was unkempt, like shadows over his skin. "I might."

"I'd pay, of course. And you don't have to come with me if you don't want"

"Really, do you think I'd just let you run off by yourself to go and get killed? You haven't even put your life elsewhere, and you still owe imany/i favors – and one of the favors was to stay and be my companion."

"It's been a while since we had a grand adventure," The Marquis said.

"Yeah, I think it's been all of two minutes since we were last on the run," Richard said.

"It makes you appreciate life," De Carabas replied.

"I've been dreaming about her, Anaesthesia I mean. I think if we find her, we'll be able to help Door find her sister. I didn't speak up before as I owed you a debt but...I have to do this. I should've done it earlier."

"The lady Door, you say?" Richard could almost see the machinations beginning to form in his head. One could never have too many favors from an opener. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

Richard really thought there would be some sort of resistance there. Then again, he should've known better.

**.**

Ingress was a shy girl, one not entirely good at opening yet. Witnessing the downfall of her family, their bodies torn apart, bloodied had only made almost mute. They'd tried to get her to open things for them many time, the pair and the angel. Still, something within her had balled up and shuddered, her talent becoming a shelled turtle in her breast.

And then, they stopped coming at all. She was hungry and tired, barely able to sleep because of the nightmares that assailed her. Not only that, the water stores in this place had worn away. It was a stone place, cold, like a prison. There weren't any windows, and it dank and cold. Night and day, she couldn't tell the difference down here. It was just long waiting until they killed her, or made her try to pull tricks like the animals in a circus.

But they were gone now, either forgotten about her, or of the idea to leave her to starve. So Ingress took what little courage she had and tried to coax the door open. Her mother had always said that one should visualize the place one wanted to go. That memory reminded her of home, and she felt another pang.

To her surprise, the door opened. She stepped out and into a long, dark corridor with shadows that seemed to ripple, as if they were breathing.

All she could do was to keep walking.

**.**

There were bones scattered across the place. The most tragic of them were the rat skulls with their little eye holes. It was one thing to take a human, but a rat? Anesthesia shook her head at the mere thought. This really was an evil place, to take a rat.

She'd been here a while, but not seen anybody else. Nor anything, really. She felt like she should be hungry and thirsty, but all she felt was cold and a bit empty.

She became aware that she was no longer alone, and now was joined by the presence of a young girl.

"Hi there," she said.

"Where are we?" the girl said. She was a demure little thing with her head bent all shy and scared. Anesthesia had come across wild things like her. Maybe a fawn, or a rabbit like she'd seen on the nature programs on the telly back when she'd been in London Below.

"I don't rightly know. One minute, I was on Knightsbridge with Richard and the next, I was here."

She left out the story of the living nightmares she had encountered there, for the poor thing looked like she'd seen enough nightmares in her life already. She was a pale little thing with bird bones and a constantly bowed head. Anesthesia patted her on the shoulder. She flinched away from the touch.

"You don't need to worry, I'm not gonna hurt you," Anesthesia said with smile.

"Did they come here, the two?" she said, with an edge of terror in her voice.

"Nobody comes here. I haven't even seen the people whose bones they were. They seem real those. Not the fake bones, like in a movie."

"A movie?"

"You know, they play on those little boxes, the telly–"

"I think my father read us a book about one of those before," she said solemnly. "Is it like the dictaphone?"

"Could be. I've never seen a dictaphone. My name is Anesthesia."

She held out her hand to shake. The girl drew back and looked alarmed. "Temple and Arch, you don't need to draw back. I'm not a monster."

"I don't like this place," she said suddenly. She looked around, jerky and nervous, like anything might pop out of the corners. Not that there _were_ any corners, mind.

"I don't much like it either. It's dark and dank and creepy." And whenever she closed her eyes to sleep, the dreams came with such force that she would wake up screaming. But she didn't tell the girl that. Let her hope for a little longer.


	8. Bird By Bird

Title: Bird by Bird  
Day/Theme: 4 . 17. Their bird wings severed like trophies  
Series: Neverwhere  
Character/Pairing: Old Baily, OCs  
Rating: PG-13

**.**

There was rain on the air. He could smell it through the scent of coal tar, the smog and the lingering evidence that the Sewer Folk had visited last Market day. His birds were being as belligerent as always. Old Baily started on an anecdote he'd heard which had quite the good ending, though it took a while to get there but they kept interrupting him with their bellyaching.

"Oh yeah? You can't have heard that one before! I just heard it myself last market day!"

A few indignant caws said that something to the effect of his memory being as reliable as muddy sink hole.

"Oh? Well maybe then you'd like to be in the _stew pot_! How do you like that one, eh?"

He threw a few curses there way, until a few of them (rather rudely, he might add) decided to inform him of a customer's arrival. The boy was wearing a sweater too big for em so that it left a large hint of collarbones showing. He was sucking on a bit of rock candy.

"Oh, a customer. Welcome, welcome to Ol' Baily's. We've got birds and information galore! Now whatcha be wantin'?"

"My master desires information of a delicate sort," the boy said.

"Well, you can just sit right down here. How about some blackbird stew?"

The boy sniffed indignantly. "I haven't the time. You see....There's a man who my master feels the need to _repay_. You probably know of him...The Marquis de Carabas is what he usually goes by."

He reached out his hand and the sweater pulled back just enough for Old Baily to catch sight of a coat of arms branded into the skin. Oh, this wasn't good. This wasn't good at all... Old Baily fought for his composure. Sure, the Marquis and he had never been friendly – even more than that, Old Baily had always had a fear of what he just might be asked, but hearing that the man was marked made him feel downright sad for em.

Staying with the birds, he heard things. The Marquis had been known to double cross more than a few people, and not all of them were going senile like The Earl. Of course, Old Baily had been telling him for as long as he knew him that all this dirty dealin' was going to come back and bite him in the arse one day, but did he listen? Never. The git just would smirk in his own enigmatic way and continue on, like he had nine lives or something.

Old Baily laughed, a bit too loud, in order to cover the moment of silence. "I don't think anyone knows about the Marquis, least of all Old Baily here. You might as well try and make a ladder to the moon at that rate."

The boy drew closer. "But that's your job, isn't it? To _find_ information. I assure you, the pay is well worth it..."

Old Baily swallowed. "That's a nice offer, but I never did look into the Marquis much. I rather like living."

"Oh? Then perhaps your continued existence is the trade you'd prefer? My master can be very merciful when it strikes his mood. He'd even be willing to spare a no-good peasant who dared to I should warn you, however, that my master abhors liars..."

Oh, this wasn't good. It wasn't good at all. He recognized that crest, and that master of his could bring down a whole lot of trouble heaped on him. And if he betrayed the Marquis, he knew damn well that he'd get his payback. Really, neither was a man to be trifled with.

He wetted his lips, but no sound came out. He was sweating up a storm, he was.

"Perhaps you'll remember more later on? If you need to find me, look behind the old Bluebell sign."

With that the boy was gone, and Old Baily was left with nothing but his troubles and the cawing of those noisome crows. Really, he should up and cook every last one of them.

Oh, this wasn't good news. Not at all. How did he ever get himself twisted up in these sorts of things?

**.**

Darren came before him. He bowed and then when the expression did not change, he knelt. Only when he felt a hand on his head, did he dare to look up. His master wore finer clothes than the rest of the rabble in London Below. A well-made jacket, with some lace at the cuffs, and even with a working pocket watch at his vest. He moved his gaze up slowly to find his master's green eyes fixed on him in faint amusement.

"Milord, I have done as you asked. The old birdsman proved little help, but it seems he soon might reconsider."

"And what of the girl, the lady Door?"

"She is proving very elusive. I have heard that she is on a quest to find her sister who she believes might have survived the massacre."

"A shame, to have _survivors_ when it was such a convenient turn of events in the first place. It couldn't have gone better had I orchestrated it myself." He sighed and took another sip of tea.

"I hope to hear of better news next, Darren. Though you have always pleased me in the past, I grow tired of failures very easy. Do you understand?"

Darren bowed his head to hide his shame.

"Yes, milord...."

"Good. You are dismissed."


	9. Speak Low

Title: Speak Low  
Day/Theme: 4 .7 . The dream of a common language  
Series: Neverwhere  
Character/Pairing: Marquis de Carabas, Richard. Preslashy. Also Door, Anesthesia and Ingress  
Rating: PG/PG-13 in earlier parts.

**.**

It hadn't taken them too long to catch up with Door. She had a habit of periodically checking in on them, possibly for his sake to ensure that the Marquis hadn't bartered him off or left him behind. Besides, the Marquis was very adept at finding people. He had a whole network of rats and pigeons, even people who could be paid off for a tip or a searching mission.

But they did find, her, eventually. She was at Bishopsgate Below, between the abbeys filled with pilgrims, weary travelers and ascetics. The Marquis was more restrained here, the most restrained he'd seen since Earl's Court. Then again, a man as shady as him wouldn't blend in much with religious types. He probably found them boring at best, and unprofitable at worst.

He walked up to her, and waited for her to stop conversing with a monk before saying her name. He knew better than to tap her on the shoulder; the default reaction for most any of London's below would be an elbow in the gut.

"You're a hard person to find, you know?"

She turned around, and broke into a bright smile at the sight of him. "I try to be. More importantly, why are you here? Did you need a new book that badly?"

"Ha ha, not this time. You see, I'm joining you. In looking for your sister. I think I might be onto something about her whereabouts."

"Really? How?"

"Well, I've been having these dreams..."

"And he let you run off with this mad scheme?" Door said., turning to De Carabas.

The Marquis leaned against a building, half covered in shadows. He smiled, more wan and humorless than usual. "His dreams are what saved us from the beast of London Below, so I wouldn't take them too lightly."

"You must be doing something right, Richard. Now even the Marquis has a vote of confidence for you," she said.

"I'm about as surprised as you are, actually," Richard said.

"If you two are done chatting, we should probably go find these girls before they die of old age," The Marquis called back. He was already walking away.

Door grinned conspiratorially. "If I didn't know better, I'd think that he was embarrassed."

**.**

They made camp when night fell. The Marquis had even found an unused barrel of the metal kinds that homeless people huddled around in the cold. Fitting as they were in a sense, homeless. A few varying materials found from his coat pockets and elsewhere, a few things found on the ground, as well as a Bic lighter with a few uses left ensured that their fingers wouldn't freeze. It wasn't the snowy-rainy slush that clogged the Above, but it was getting quite chilly as of late. Richard was glad for De Carabas' foresight in getting him fitted, even if he'd probably be paying of the debt the rest of his life.

Door had her arms about her legs, which were covered in a number of skirts that seemed from different eras. All were ripped and mended at various angles and points, making it look like one ruffled skirt, instead of many.

"How much of the basics have you learned yet?" She asked pointedly.

"You doubt my teaching abilities?" De Carabas' said, with a tone of mocking servility. He was always mocking somehow, even when serious.

"No, I doubt that you'd teach him without charging him or teaching him wrong for your amusement."

"You wound me," the Marquis said. His smile implied otherwise.

"He's taught me a little bit. I know how to barter fairly well. Not quite as good as him, but well enough to get by," Richard said.

"I don't think anyone Above or Below knows how to barter as well as the Marquis," she said dryly.

The Marquis smiled in response to this, but said nothing, leaving his secrets hidden as well as ever. He rose and bowed, only to poke at the fire a bit more and pull his coat around him tighter.

"And languages? Pigeon? Rat?"

"None of that yet," Richard said. He admitted it in an apologetic manner, as if this was somehow his own fault.

"Well, it's about time you learned. It could save your life if you got separated from one of us."

"How do I find them, though? Should I carry cheese around? Put crumbs in my pockets for the pigeons?"

"That could work. Be careful that they don't eat you in the night. By accident, of course," The Marquis said.

"So says the man who had _fruitcake_ in his pockets," Richard shot back.

"One should always be prepared for the worst," the Marquis replied.

"We'll get to meeting them later. First we have to do greeting them. We should start with Pigeon first. It's a bit easier."

She cupped her hands to her mouth and made a trilling noise. Richard tried to replicate it, mostly failing.

"No, no Richard you have to put more _emphasis_ like this–"

She cooed. Richard tried again. With emphasis, or something like it, at least.

"Congratulations. You just said her mother was a whore and she enjoys taking rides in hovercrafts filled with eels," The Marquis remarked dryly.

The Marquis licked his lips, gave Richard a look said something in response in Pigeon, not that Richard knew what it was.

Door frowned. "Marquis! Don't be vulgar."

Richard looked from one to another. The Marquis was as unreadable as ever, with only amusement to show and he was always amused about something, and most likely he wasn't laughing _with_. you. Door just looked mildly perturbed by it, as apparently however vulgar it was, it wasn't enough to _really_ offend her. Either that or it was the kind of turn of phrase that she expected from De Carabas.

"What did he say?"

"I'm not translating that," she said.

"Not even a hint?"

"I'd tell, but you'd have to pay of course," the Marquis said. His voice was silky, teasing even.

"I don't want to know _that_ badly..."

"Suit yourself," the Marquis replied.

Richard had the lingering feeling that the remark was about him, or meant for him. He wondered if the Marquis had caught on to the crazy fancying he'd started to have and was playing with him. Or he could be just playing with him in general. It'd certainly fit his character.

**.**

"My father used to say that there's always a door somewhere...you just have to look for it."

The little girl shuddered in a quiet sob that racked her whole body. Poor thing. Anesthesia reached to touch her

"Papa..." she said. It was soft, and broken down by more tears.

"We'll find your father, and get you out of this place," Anesthesia soothed.

Even if she knew it was a lie, it seemed wrong to tell the whole hard truth to a little thing like her.

"My father is dead."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

The sound of the sobs grew louder, and a little prism of light. Carved out right through that darkness was the shape of an arch. A door appeared in the writhing clouds of nothing that made up this place.

Ingress hadn't talked much since they set off, so Anaesthesia did most of the talking for her. It was creepy just walking through these corridors, on and on with nothing but their footsteps. Walking like that could make someone downright paranoid, and starting at every echo – was that footstep another, or just echoes of one's own? – that's the kind of thoughts that came with silence.

"Do you have anyone you could go to? An aunt or something?"

"No," Ingress said in muted tones. "Well..."

"Well?"

"I overheard them mention finding my sister Door once. She was out traveling while they...." Ingress fell silent.

"See, we'll look for your sister Door as soon as we get out of here. There's no need to worry about it." Anesthesia patted Ingress' head. This time, the girl didn't flinch as much.

The hall was long and dark. Ingress moved a little closer, and Anesthesia placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and kept it there.

"See, before you know it we'll be right to market and daylight again," Anesthesia said soothingly.

Ingress didn't answer.


	10. A Flip Of The Coin

Title: A Flip Of The Coin  
Day/Theme: 4 . 10 . In fur and gold  
Series: Neverwhere  
Character/Pairing: Marquis de Carabas, Richard, Door.  
Rating: PG-13

**.**

A fleck of gold, flip of a coin. It was useless below, yet still pretty. Still, he could not help in his obsessive collective, as shiny things were wont to caught his eye, like a magpie. He always put whatever he found, however trivial, in those large pockets of his seemingly endless coat. One never knew when it might come in handy, when someone might want a bottlecap or a bit of string. Besides, he was never wanting for space with how those seemingly useless articles often managed to arrange themselves into useful favors. Favors which went down like notches in his memory. And the Marquis de Carabas did not forget favors owed him (or slights, for that matter.)

The coin in question looked to be of Roman make, and was in flawless condition. It was as shiny as if it were newly minted, and not gone through the dust of many eons. Then again, hadn't he heard of the Lady Door visiting the camping Roman soldiers before? Time and Space were of little meaning to an opener.

It would go for a fortune above. Here? It _might_ buy some soup if the person was in a merciful mood, and people down in London Below rarely were. But the Marquis always had contacts hidden away somewhere. Above or below, it did not matter. He would find just the shady seller he needed.

Richard leaned over, to see what he was doing. Oh Richard, he was always one for nosing into the wrong business. It was a good thing he found Richard amusing (and more, _oh_ so much more.)

Richard grinned. "I bet you've got the kitchen sink hidden somewhere away in there."

"Wouldn't be surprised," Door said. "He could probably pull live rabbits and doves from that coat of his."

"That," The Marquis said leaning close to Richard, and grinning a predatory smile "Is for me to know and for you to guess."

"Be careful, Richard, or he might try and put _you_ into one of his pockets," Door said, with a laugh.

"The lady Door is most wise, Richard. You should heed her wisdom," The Marquis said. He winked, a hint at the _other_ aspects past amusement, while a faint blush tinged Richard's cheeks. Only faint, as if he'd seen too much sun, and not quite the 'blushing schoolgirl' kind. The Marquis felt triumphant. In the end, he always won, and he always got his man. No exceptions.


	11. Above I

Title: Above I  
Day/Theme: 5. 28. I dream in my dream all the dreams of other dreamers  
Series: Neverwhere  
Character/Pairing: Marquis de Carabas, Richard, Door, OC  
Rating: PG-13 is the default  
Author's note: part of the Good Enough ficverse. this was for Quiddative's domestic meme thing. I split it into two parts as the other was heavy on the OC / Anesthesia & Ingress interaction.

**.**

Door poured water on the last of the embers and Richard felt a bit bad to leave where he'd been sleeping. Sure, some blankets weren't anything like the firm mattress he used to have, but he'd been comfortable and warm, and not entirely ready to leave the embrace of sleep yet.

But the Marquis had that eager gleam in his eye – he always had a gleam in his eye somehow. Mischievous, knowing, teasing, but this one seemed to be the kind wherein he was sure he could garner a favor.

And really there was no reasoning with the Marquis when there was something like that involved. Richard pulled himself up and hoped groggily that they could find some coffee somewhere, or tea. Tea worked too.

"I've got a hot tip that there's something of interest Above. Milady, if you will," The Marquis said with a sweeping bow.

"Be glad to," Door said. She touched the grimy wall and the tunnel turned another color, until they were looking at clouds and sky and day. They walked out through it, to the busy London streets. No one saw them there.

"We're going shopping," the Marquis said.

"I thought they couldn't see us up there?" Richard queried. He looked to Door for answers.

"You should know by now, the Marquis always finds a way," she said.

"You're very astute, Lady Door," he said.

Soon they were being lead off through the zigzagging streets. The Marquis seemed to instinctually know where he was going, and he was obviously in good spirts as he did not let up. It was a chore to keep up with him. Eventually they came to this little place tucked in a corner, called Thisebane's Collectibles. Inside everything was polished to a bright sheen, as if dust never even got a chance to settle. It was a veritable museum of artifacts, from little baubles to coins, and even larger things like furniture and such.

"If you want something for yourself, I'm afraid you're on your own," De Carabas said.

The Marquis did not look for long, but walked straight towards the desk where the proprietor was making repairs to a book with a fraying cover. He was a small man, with of balding hair that seemed to have gone grey prematurely. It curled at the nape of his neck. He lifted his glasses and studied them.

"What can you give me for _this_?" De Carabas said. He opened his palm to reveal the coin.

"It's a forgery," the man protested. "You'd have to use time travel for something this good. Nobody will believe it."

"It's real and you know it. All I can say is that I have my methods. You know this already," De Carabas said smoothly. "Now answer my question: what can you give me for this?"

The proprietor narrowed his eyes. They looked cloudy and faint blue magnified by his cokebottle glasses.

"You'd probably be wanting some artifact or some other trade..."

"Yes, just as every other deal, money is useless to me," De Carabas said. The proprietor looked dour. He seemed in thought, until he took a passing glance to the other customers.

"Hey you over there – no touching!"

Richard jerked back as if he'd been slapped. Door giggled, a hand over her mouth, but barely containing the mirth.

"I was just trying to get a better look," Richard protested.

"A better look so you could steal for this crook over here," the proprietor said.

Richard looked chagrined. The Marquis just smiled a sarcastic sort of smile.

"Really, betray _you_? I wouldn't think of such a thing," the Marquis said smoothly.

The proprietor _hmmphed._. He rifled around in a drawer and pulled out a small velvet black bag

"I just got this one in last month," the proprietor said.

The Marquis' gaze was rapt as he looked inside. Then he smiled, slow and triumphant.

"I'll take it," De Carabas said.

**.**

"So, where to next?" Richard said. He was glad to be rid of the place and its infernal proprietor. He still felt a little sullen at being yelled at. He'd just been l_ooking_. (Richard didn't care if that made him sound like a teenager. He'd been innocent, dammit.)

"I suppose we could do a little more _shopping_," the Marquis said. The way he accentuated the word 'shopping' really made Richard wonder. Soon they were being dragged off again to another place, until they came to an open-air market. It had all sorts of things, and almost reminded him of the floating market for sheer variety of things. There were food stands and little trinkets, to say nothing of the clothing and books on the far side.

"How exactly are we going to shop again?" Richard said. "I don't think these guys can see us."

"Richard," Door murmured. "When he says shop, he means _take_."

"Oh. Stealing. Right," Richard said. "Do I have to worry about them seeing me?"

Richard hadn't lost all of his Above rules, even if the Marquis seemed hellbent on bending them all away. Still, he supposed the shopkeepers wouldn't miss it if they just took a little of something he really needed.

"Probably not unless you talk to them. Just be casual and blend in."

Richard was sure he blended in well walking with a rather tall (quite handsome) black man in an elaborate coat, and a girl looking as if she had robbed a theater troupe and then a museum for good measure.

He browsed anyways. He'd used to browse these sorts of places before he dated Jessica, but she found them dirty and utterly classless, so he stopped. They were always an interesting visit, as you'd never know what you might find. 'One man's trash is another man's treasure' indeed.

The Marquis was expanding his goods with flair. He had very many deep pockets, and it seemed as if he were going to fill all of them. Richard kept wondering if he'd get caught, but time and time again the people just looked past him. The last thing he took was some food. It reminded Richard that he'd not had any breakfast – or coffee for that matter. Now there was something he could take without any regrets.

He blinked as he realized that his dream – the one of two girls walking on and on through a seemingly endless tunnel had fractured into two girls walking around this very place. In fact, the little girl next to Anesthesia had been fingering this very afghan before she was lead away by someone coming. It wasn't a very notable afghan. That it was a brown color was a plus as it would hide the dirt, and it seemed soft enough. On second thought, it'd probably make a good pillow.

It wasn't as easy to shove into his pockets, but Richard picked it up as casually as he could. He noted a little tap as something fell to the ground. He bent to pick it up, and found a little figurine, of obsidian, apparently. The light wasn't good enough for him to make out exactly what it was. He put that in his pocket, and took the afghan looking ahead all the while and hoping no one would notice.

The thought struck him that the girl hadn't been fingering it, so much as hiding something it in. He felt the figurine in his pocket, and found it surprisingly warm to the touch.


	12. Above II

Title: Above II  
Day/Theme: 5. 18. at the end of the secret path (late, heh.)  
Series: Neverwhere  
Character/Pairing: Ingress, Anesthesia  
Author's note: Part of the Good Enough ficverse. I split this into two as it came from a request and I wanted the part that came from her request to be able to be read as a stand alone feature. Sorry for the lateness; Life Happened. (Actually, I've had these done for a while, but FFN was down and I wasn't able to update.) Thanks to Joss for betaing.

**.**

The tunnel ended abruptly. There was a feeling, nauseous, like falling. When they opened their eyes, the place had changed. No longer was it the dark, waking nightmare of a place, but a normal one – or at least normal to most folk. Anesthesia had to rub at her eyes to make sure it was really true.

"Where are we?"

"We're...Above," Anesthesia said, her voice almost reverent. "We're really Above..."

Ingress blinked at the light. They were surrounded by garbage bags and the fetid smell of refuse. They walked from the alley. Traffic was thick at this hour, and a stream of black taxicabs and the red double-decker buses that tourists just ate up.

"Be careful, they won't see you," Anesthesia warned. "And just because people can't see you here doesn't mean they can't hit you."

Ingress took this in, wide-eyed . She watched the cars with extra care as they walked. It was only a little later that she piped up with the question that had been bothering her.

"How will we eat?" Ingress said, worried. For the first time in a long time, she was showing an appetite.

"Like I said, they won't see us at all," Anaesthesia said with a wry grin. "We can pluck it right up and they won't notice a thing."

"Not at all?" Ingress asked.

"Nope! We can eat our fill and never have to pay with favors or the like."

"Why don't more people live Above, then?" Ingress asked.

"Because it gets awful lonely being a non-person. Having people look right through you. Besides, it makes you lonely for when you had a family and friends, and then you want to go try and make them see you–and really that can only lead to pain."

Ingress nodded, seeming much wiser than her years. She'd probably aged a hundred years with all the pain she'd endured, poor thing. Well, Anesthesia would see to it that she got her–and both of them–home.

"C'mon, we'll go get something to eat, maybe show you a bit around the Above and then go back Below where we belong."

Ingress nodded and took the offered hand.

**.**

As Anesthesia predicted, it wasn't very hard to get food. They could just walk up to the street vendors and find whatever they wanted. Ingress had looked in wonder at Big Ben, and the busy London streets she'd never seen in anything but books before. Anesthesia had even stopped down at an open air market and gotten her some candy. She was smiling, really smiling, and it warmed Anesthesia's heart to see her relax for once. Poor little thing; she'd had such a hard life so far. Anesthesia wondered deep down if she'd even have a home to return to when they got there.

She wanted to get out before nightfall, though. It got cold here, and it was no good sleeping on vents and huddling together. Then again, they might be safer up here considering most folk wouldn't see them. Still, Anaesthesia wanted to be back with the Ratspeakers. Oh, wouldn't they be surprised to see her again!

Maybe she'd even run into Richard again. Anything was possible, after all...

They'd been walking towards a good place to make an entrance. Ingress still had issues with this opening, so it seemed like she worked better if there was some actual arching or door-like structure to work with. Maybe it helped the image in her mind, or whatever. Anesthesia still wasn't sure how this opening thing worked. But before they could try for another place, someone stepped in front of their path. He was looking at them, and not _through_ them. Anesthesia squinted. He seemed awful familiar... Then it hit her.

"Darren! It's been ages!" Anesthesia said. "I hadn't seen you since you went off to work for Lord Such and Such."

Darren's mouth twitched into a smile. It grew a little brittle at the mention of _Lord Such and Such._"

"Viscount Tremont is a thorough master. I'm afraid I've barely any time to spend with plain old Ratspeakers anymore."

"We're uh, just taking the scenic route, aren't we?" She smiled back at Ingress. "Oh, do I need to introduce you?"

"Portico's daughter. Charmed to make your acquaintance," Darren said.

"Why don't I guide you?" Darren said. "I won't even charge a favor, given that we're _old friends_ and all..."

"Oh, that'd be nice, Darren. Thank ya," Anesthesia said. "See, Ingress? We'll be right as rain and back before you know it."

Darren smiled at this, a lingering smirk that neither caught as they went back into the darkness of Below.


	13. The Door To Dreams

Title: The Door To Dreams  
Series: Neverwhere  
Character/Pairing: Richard, Ingress, Door, Marquis de Carabas.  
Rating: PG  
Author's note: part of the Good Enough ficverse. Thanks to Joss for the beta.

.

Before his brush with below, Richard's dreams were never things he remembered. As of late, he'd been dreaming a lot more, and lucid dreams at that. There were the dreams of the beast of London Below: all echoing halls and reformed darkness, and the dreams of Above which teased him with comfort, only to wake to a cold, damp ground in a cubbyhole of London Below. And then there were the dreams when he finally went home, and found him wishing to backtrack. Dreams of night where the Marquis popped out of the darkness and invited him in, for it was ever so nice.

Tonight, it was Ingress he saw. She looked at him, her dour expression unchanging. He tried to speak, but no sound came out. It was as if some invisible wall of existence separated them. She tilted her head, and he pointed to his mouth, as if to say _So sorry, but my voice seems to be gone. Maybe it's magic, maybe it's laryngitis. Can you have dream laryngitis?_

She reached out to touch the nothing and drew an arch there through the clouds of dark. Neither stepped through the door, but he saw her lips move to form a single word. But what it was he couldn't quite tell. Tree mont? Tree something or other...

The blackness closed in, and she disappeared from view. The night pulled back like curtains and revealed another grey view. He saw the Marquis lying on his back, his throat slit and lifeless, unblinking gaze towards the ceiling. He was drifting in sewer water, disappearing into the muck and grime. His coat was gone, and through the murky light, he could see that the Marquis had been tortured. There were several small injuries which had been inflicted so as to cause the most pain possible: the inner skin of his left arm was removed, many small flayings where his arms or legs became a red mess of cuts. Richard opened his mouth to let out a cry of his name, and this time, the veil that had kept him silent was torn away, and his voice echoed all through the sewers.

**.**

"Honestly, can you keep your pining and flirting down? I'm trying to sleep here," Door said.

"Did something happen?"

"You yelled my name while you were sleeping, for one," the Marquis said with a faint trace of amusement. He was propped up on his elbow, looking quite smug about the whole affair.

Richard cleared his throat. "It was more a nightmare than anything."

"Sure it was, Richard," the Marquis said.

"It was, really," Richard protested.

But neither of them answered, having already turned back in; the topic was closed, it seemed.

But Richard lay there, his body tense. He couldn't find his way back to sleep with the threat of the dreams. His dreams had been clairvoyant ever since he'd met Door. He'd dreamed night after night of the fight against the beast of London Below, and of many other things that were to come. He stole one last glance at Marquis. His broad back was away from him, making him look like little more than the pile of rags Richard had spied that first time they met. He wondered if this was a foretelling and the sly trickster would find himself embroiled in something not even he could escape. The thought left him bereft and confused, a sudden heaviness in his chest. He curled up, and pulled his coat a little closer. Sleep did not come to him until the sky was grey with approaching morning, as every time he closed his eyes, the images returned.


	14. Directions

Title: Directions  
Series: Neverwhere  
Character/Pairing: Marquis, Richard, Door  
Rating: PG  
Author's note: comment_fic: Marquis/Richard, are we lost?

**.**

They'd been stalled for a while at a series of crossroads. The Marquis had been checking this one and that for some time now, yet Richard could hardly see what the big deal was. It was just a crossroads, after all.

"Can't we just pick one? We could always retrace our steps if it came to it," Richard said.

"It would be rather hard to retrace your steps without legs, and that's exactly what we'd be doing if we make a wrong turn," De Carabas said without looking up.

Richard looked to Door for explanation, but she shook her head. "It's better to not ask."

So he didn't. He huddled back in the corner and waited while the Marquis decided on the best course of action. As it went, the Marquis was looking at whatever he held in his hand, some sort of trinket or other. When he wasn't looking at the little black thing, he was looking off to the distance and squinting. He had once or twice pulled out a map which was nearly incomprehensible to Richard. Door seemed to know what it was about, occasionally nodding and touching the map, speaking of fiefdoms and barons.

However, after some thirty minutes of this, Richard spoke up again.

"Are we lost?" Richard asked.

"No, we are not lost," the Marquis said with irritation, "We are looking for a path to a specific place which is proving difficult to find."

"So it's the floating market again?" Richard said.

"No," the Marquis replied.

"So we are lost, and you're not admitting it," Richard said.

"Oh, you know how it is, Richard," Door said flippantly. "Men never ask for directions."

The Marquis glared at both of them in turn. "I should leave you both in a very dark alley. One so dark and vast that even you, Lady Door, could not get out of it."

"Hardly. Then you'd never be able to extract all those important favors from us."

"I said I _should_, not that I was going to," the Marquis said.

He pocketed the trinket and walked with conviction down the left path. Richard pushed himself up from the wall and started to follow, for the Marquis was prone to walking at quite a brisk pace and did not like to held back by slower companions.

"Somehow, I get the feeling it was all part of his plan," Door said.

"Somehow, I get the feeling you're right," Richard replied.


	15. Pockets

Title: Pockets  
Series: Neverwhere  
Character/pairing: Preslashy Marquis de Carabas/Richard, Door, Darren, Ingress, Anesthesia  
Rating: PG-13  
Author's note: Good Enough ficverse returns! Comment_fic: Marquis de Carabas/Richard, playing 'what is in my pocketses'. Yup, filling more of my own prompts.

**.**

They'd been sitting about, resting their legs for a moment. The gathering dusk had turned cloudy and dark, erasing the colors into nothing. They'd been Above for a while, then shifted back down. That was how it'd gone, up and down, up and down, with very little rest. The leather on Richard's boots seemed to be going. Maybe he'd be able to find up in Above.

De Carabas looked into his things, sorting and searching. Richard found himself studying the line of his jaw, his shoulder. He'd never really been attracted to boys like that, but then he'd never met a man like the Marquis. He'd always been attracted to curves and soft hair, so it was a strange feeling to be admiring broad shoulders and a strong jaw. Not entirely bad, just...different.

Which summed up a lot of his life Underground.

The Marquis lifted his head and met Richard's gaze.

"Was there something you needed, Richard?" The Marquis asked, a knowing smile on his face.

"You've been rifling through your pockets for an awful long while," Richard noted.

"Well, I do happen to have quite a few of them," The Marquis said. "As you can see."

"You could play 'what is in my pocketses'," Door piped up, an enigmatic smile on her face.

"That'd be a challenge. I think he could fit whole rat cities in there," Richard said.

"I could," De Carabas said, his voice silky. "Rats are always good luck to have around."

"That's what my father always said," Door said, nodding.

Richard doesn't say that for most of his life, the only thing rats were good for was poisoning. They've saved his life, possibly more than once, but after seeing how _ disposable _Anesthesia was to them, he's started to wonder who the real vermin are.

De Carabas had been keeping close with the trinket he picked up. Like usual, he was keeping mum about it, and well, everything. Richard had to admit that it was hard fancying a man, especially one like the Marquis. He still isn't sure exactly what he's supposed to _d_o. You bought flowers for women, you took the initiative and asked them out, brought them to your parents, took them out. He certainly didn't think De Carabas would care for flowers, unless they were the sort which were medicine or secretly some spring of youth. One could never tell down here.

He certainly couldn't imagine taking the Marquis to see his parents–not that he had parents to take him to any longer.

On the telly, gay men wore high priced fashionable clothes and said things like 'divine' and 'fabulous'. They liked things like musicals and Abba. Richard did none of those things–though he had nothing against fine clothes or the word 'divine' used as a description– which only left him more confused. Sexuality was never something he really thought about, and now, along with his life, he had shifted.

He definitely still liked women. There'd been a very lovely blond at the last market before this thing happened, Marquis had teased him for how long he'd stared. This one hadn't even been a Velvet. But with Marquis, it was different. _He _was different. He was mysterious and alluring and compelling in ways that just a year ago would've made Richard worried to even share an alley with, let alone a bed.

Not that he was acting on this fancying, mind you. Right now he was going to find Anesthesia and Ingress, because finding two girls who had vanished into nothing seemed infinitely more sane than trying to figure out how to work out a love affair with a man who would probably meter out favors for the rest of his life, and take any hint of love as a way for even more favors. He was always the type to work through his troubles, anyways. Had he not been pulled Underground he would've probably thrown himself into work to try and escape how he had Jessica hadn't really been quite right for each other.

Though, truth be told, progress wasn't good. The Marquis seemed to know what he was doing, not that he was sharing any of it with anyone.

But Richard dreamt, and knew. They were alive somewhere. Moving in places far from London Underground.

Places he'd never been before.

**.**

The door closed behind them, and he felt the world _shift_. It was a place between places. Ingress reached out into nothing, feeling herself brush against the nothing.

"Darren?" Anesthesia asked. Her voice echoed in the chamber. He'd said he'd be there in a minute, that he'd had to go find something. He'd even seemed apologetic about it. And now this was a prison, like the last one.

She thought about the places Anesthesia had talked about. She thought about her past, about when her parents were there before everything went like a living nightmare she couldn't wake up from.

She marked a door with her mind, like Door had been trying to teach her before everything went. The nothing parted, and from it came shapes and colors of being.

"You did it again," Anesthesia said proudly. "You're really something, you know that, Ingress?"

They looked into an elaborate court hall. It was so large, with a mirrored floor like that of a chessboard. There were suits of armor, only slightly rusted and tapestries, only slightly fraying. There was a red and gold carpet leading to a small throne, where a man sat, Darren by his side. He was a middle-aged man who she guessed was older than he seemed, with a feline gaze of green eyes, and an aquiline nose. He was all angles, lean and proud looking, she was almost sure she had seen him once before. His thin lips twisting into something like a smile.

"I've been expecting you," he said.


End file.
